


When Everything Falls Apart

by worldofstars (dandeliondrifts)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gay, M/M, Male Slash, Original Fiction, Original Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:20:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2715368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandeliondrifts/pseuds/worldofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bryan's world is falling apart.</p><p>His father's abuse is getting worse. His friends aren't really his friends. The dark cloud of depression hovering around him is only thickening, suffocating him in his own misery.</p><p>And to top it all off, the new boy is on a mission to ruin his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Everything Falls Apart

He hates the word.

It curls around his stomach like a poisonous snake, straining against his abdomen. _Arrogant._ The word whispers in his ear, again and again, monstrous and acidic and painful. _You’re so mature,_ his father tells him, _but along with that, very arrogant._

And that’s the last thing Bryan wants to be. It’s the thing he’s always tried to avoid being. He knows people like genuine, kind, caring, selfless people, and every day, Bryan tries to be one of those people. He tries to be kind and non-judgemental, and even if he’s a little stubborn, he _always_ takes other people’s opinions seriously.

But his father says he’s arrogant.

The word throttles his mind, burns in the back of his throat. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t do arrogant things, does he? He’s not that hot-shot kid walking down the hallway with excessive amounts of swagger, and he’s not that kid that acts like he’s better than everyone else just because he’s managing a 98% average in high school.

He’s _not._ He can’t be. It would crush him to pieces.

“Bryan!” The door to his room thunders.

Bryan presses his face against his pillow. Inhales, exhales. Feels tears wetting his eyes, and strains to hold them back.

He’s _arrogant._

“Make dinner, will you? I’m starving!” Another loud bang. “I’m not eating Chinese takeout again.”

Bryan wants to snipe, “ _You_ make dinner. You’re the parental guardian, aren’t you?”

But he can’t say that. His throat is sandpaper, and refusing to make dinner would make him _arrogant._

Bryan drags himself off his bed and walks slowly down the kitchen, where the dim light of the hallway slopes in a slant across the stove, lighting the dusty brown edges with gold. He hears his father open up the liquor cabinet, and tenses. Then braces himself, relaxes, and starts cooking. It’s going to be a bad night.

But maybe if his father beats him down enough, the arrogance will crumble on its own.

**.**

“The bible is _not_ real,” Genesis pushes her braid back, props her glasses up high. “There’s scientific evidence to disprove it. Didn’t you read that document I sent you?”

Caleb scowls, sliding his tongue over the rim of his teeth. “That’s bullshit. Okay? You’re always spouting your beef about God not existing, that you fail to see him when he’s right in front of your very eyes!”

Genesis widens her eyes, and looks around. “I’m looking all around. I’m looking everywhere. Where the hell is Jesus Christ?” She propels herself on the cafeteria seat, wildly shaking her head in various directions. “I see Jason Catcher, that jerk who fucked that whore Britanny last week. I see that group of nerds that always read classical books all day. I see the fat janitor, but damn, where oh where is your precious God-“

“Shut up!” Caleb slaps his palm down on the table. His eyes are dark. “You have no right to disrespect him. Just because you’re a cold-hearted logic-worshipper doesn’t mean you have all the answers. For all we know, everything you read online could be _wrong._ ”

“For all we know,” Genesis says cheekily. “Everything you read in the bible could be wrong.”

Bryan sighs, playing with his cold, watery pasta. He isn’t worried about the way they’re glaring daggers at each other. They fight about religion nearly every day. Caleb’s a Christian, and Genesis is an atheist. They just can’t resist getting in each other’s faces on a daily basis, whipping out different pieces of evidence from left and right.

He wonders why they even bother to be friends.

“Bryan,” Caleb says. “Tell her. Tell her that God is real.”

Bryan settles deep in his seat. “I’m not getting into this.”

“Please,” Genesis says. “He thinks God is bullshit, but he’s just too much of a wimp to admit it.”

“Think what you want,” Bryan drones out. Once again, he’s very used to this. They always try to make him choose sides, but Bryan resists. He doesn’t really know what he thinks about religion and stuff. He used to think God existed, back when he was younger, but most of that has faded away. Not because of the lack of evidence, or the Big Bang Theory, or anything like that – mostly because he just can’t be bothered to believe anymore.

Maybe God exists, but he doesn’t know where, or which one, and his heart aches with the word _arrogant_ to think about it all too much.

“Hey, so, did you see that new boy?” Genesis suddenly switches the topic. “He’s a total babe.”

“A babe?” Caleb questions.

“Yes! Like, a _stud._ ”

Caleb makes a face, and shoves a bite of ravioli in his mouth. The cafeteria buzzes around him, noisy and filled with the mess of teenage hormones. “I haven’t seen him, actually,” he finally admits. “He our age?”

Bryan isn’t curious. Doesn’t really care. He’s not gay, and he’s probably not straight either, so he settles quietly with asexual, even though he isn’t really sure that’s what he is. He thinks girls are pretty, with their bright lips and swishing hair. But he thinks guys are nice too, with their firm jaws, charming smiles. But he doesn’t want to have sex. He doesn’t really _care_ about abs and ass and tongue.

“He’s our age,” Genesis says. “Hot as hell. Like, so hot I could use him as my grill for cooking eggs.”

“Lame,” Caleb snorts.

Bryan has to agree. “What’s his name?” he asks, just because he has to say _something_ or his only two friends will probably think he’s boring.

Genesis leans forward. Clasps her hands. “Don’t know the last name. But first name: Holden. _Holden._ Isn’t that sexy?”

Caleb chokes a little. “Oh, shit. He’s going to be a depressed freak who curses too much, isn’t he?”

“Not Holden Caulfield, you idiot. And Holden Caulfield _is_ _lovely,_ thank you.”

“He’s a shit that drives everyone away.”

“He’s _lovely._ ”

They started fighting about the Catcher in the Rye, which Caleb absolutely abhors, and Genesis treasures to her chest like a prize. Bryan fights back the itching feeling of loneliness, sinking into his seat and fiddling with his pasta. Even though Genesis and Caleb are both his friends, they both mostly talk with each other, and he usually just sits there, feeling like crap.

 _Arrogant._ He chews slowly on his pasta. His back is sore from yesterday, where his father beat a hair blower at him. The word dangles over his head, and he curls his fingers into his palms, fights the tears burning against his eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” Caleb says, and Genesis turns to look.

Bryan swallows hard, lip quivering. “Fine,” he says, with a smile as wide and fake as the tan on Britanny Beta’s skin. “I’m fine.”

**.**

He’s not fine.

He usually isn’t. Bryan sometimes wonders if he’s depressed. He fits the criteria. Not really sad, but dully aching his way through life, moving his legs and arms like a machine that can only breathe and eat and feel little. But he’s not completely a goner. He cares about something: _the environment._ That’s the one thing he speaks up on, belts his opinion about.

Because Bryan doesn’t want the world to destroy itself. It’s so beautiful and dark and mysterious and the only thing that gives him _hope,_ and he’s sick of the way humans trash it. Is it that hard to recycle? Is it that hard to sign a petition to help dolphins in Japan?

The hallway is nearly empty as he walks to Physics. By locker 607, a group of boys he doesn’t know are huddled around, talking and laughing. One of the boys – a really handsome one, admittedly – balls up his test paper and tosses it toward the recycling bin. He misses, and it tumbles to the ground like a fallen leave.

“Bad aim, man!” One of his friends tease. Then they start to walk down the hallway, leaving the paper crumpled on the ground.

But Bryan’s gut boils. He’s so sick of everything. But most of all, he’s sick of these boys who don’t care enough to put the paper in the trash can. He’s sick of the fact that paper is _supposed_ to go in the recycling bin, and yet the guy aimed for the trash. He’s just _sick_ of everything, and his heart rumbles in his chest.

He steps forward. Snaps:

“Hey!”

The boys glance back at him, confused. “What?” One of them calls out.

“Pick this up,” Bryan says. He points to the crumpled paper. “You’re littering our hallways.”

The guys all snort. “It’s just a hallway,” the guy who threw it says. “The janitor’ll clean it up.”

“It’s not supposed to go in the trash,” Bryan says hotly. “It goes in the recycling bin.”

“Is that so?” the guy says. Another guy nudges him. “Damn, Holden, getting told off by a nerd on your first day here.”

Bryan’s breath leaves him for a moment. So this is _Holden._ Genesis was right about the hot part, but Bryan doesn’t care about his light, chilling blue eyes or the way his dress shirt stretches over his shoulders, sweetly hugging his lean figure. Bryan has long since cared about the artificial attraction of appearances.

“Pick it up,” Bryan finally says. “And put it in the recycling bin.”

“Ooooooh” the guys all say.

Holden smirks. Then he rolls his shoulder and walks slowly, intimidatingly, down the hallway and to Bryan. He comes in real close, until their shoulders are nearly touching, and Bryan can smell all of his cologne like he’s wearing it himself. Then he leans down a little, because Bryan’s shorter, and says in a tone filled with malice:

“ _Make me._ ”

Bryan swallows. His confidence falters, and the single moment of weakness is all Holden needs. He chuckles, and snorts, and turns around to join his already-new-friends. They all smack each other in a manly way, and tumble down the hallway to probably skip class.

Bryan’s face burns.

He recycles the crumpled paper, and heads to class.

He hates his life.

**.**

At home, his father looks exhausted. Then he throws many empty bottles of wine at the wall, watching them shatter and split to the ground. Bryan waits quietly in the stairwell, and when he’s sure his father is asleep, he cleans all of the pieces up.

He does his homework. Studies for a test. Gives his father his dinner, only to be called that shitty word _arrogant_ because of the way he walked in the room.

Bryan wonders how he can become less arrogant. Is he supposed to try to hate himself more? Was he too easy on himself? Did he always think he was right? The questions swirl around in his aching temple. Bryan’s stomach claws at his insides, and he’s hungry, but he doesn’t really think he deserves to eat tonight, and not eating is the most courageous punishment he can give himself.

When he’s about the fall asleep, Holden’s face flashes in his mind, but then he’s asleep, dreaming about Caleb meeting God and Genesis pleading to not go to hell before kissing Caleb firmly on the mouth.

.

“It’s a woman’s choice,” Genesis says hotly. Her face is flushed, and she takes many gulps from her water bottle. “Forcing her to go through with a pregnancy is – well, it’s just revolting! Seriously Caleb, you support this?”

“It’s a living thing,” Caleb says seriously. “If a woman wants to spread her legs, she should be responsible for the consequences.”

“Oh, but the man isn’t? The man’s just allowed to skip away?”

“Unfortunately,” Caleb says through grit teeth. “Men don’t even get an option. Even if they _want_ to keep the baby, the woman can go ahead and go through with a damn abortion. And kill someone. Kill a perfectly potential human baby.”

“If you want to call it a baby,” Genesis says dryly. “It’s just some flesh and tissue.”

“ _Potential life._ ”

“ _Woman’s choice._ ”

They both glare daggers at each other. Bryan sips at his water, feeling hot and feverish and tired. He gets sick often. Probably because his father doesn’t take him to doctor appointments or give him good food or remind him he needs to get the flu vaccine. He wipes his hair back, and puts his head down.

He’ll probably eat tonight. But for now he’ll let the punishment last a bit longer. He’ll probably be less arrogant if he’s making himself not eat. With his head down and his eyes closed, everything feels different. There’s a rush of sounds and voices, but they fly over his mind, bursting into fuzzy noise. He hears Genesis’s sort-of-deep-for-a-girl voice, and Caleb’s sort-of-high-for-a-boy voice mingle together in combat.

“Pro-abortion,” Genesis finally affirms.

“Pro life.”

“That’s such a stupid name,” Genesis scoffs. “I mean, obviously I like life too. You should be called Pro Stupid.”

“If you agree with abortion, then you don’t have morals.”

“What a bullshit argument.”

They banter back and forth, and Bryan curls further in his arms. He tastes salt for some reason, probably because he’s just _that_ hungry, and can feel the weight of his empty stomach press down on his intestines. His head pulses faintly, and the fingers on his hands quiver. He’s just so _tired_ of it all. So tired of trying to make it through each day.

While he’s in the middle of contemplating his misery, Genesis _squeals._ Bryan jerks his head up.

“It’s _Holden_ ,” Genesis grins. “He’s passing our table.” She bites her lip. “Oh, god, look at that sexy boy, him.”

Bryan feels a rush of dimmed anger, but he lets it steam away. He doesn’t care. Yesterday is over. Holden is nothing.

But Holden must not feel the same way. As he passes their table, his eyes slow, and stop at Bryan. Then he smirks, his lip curling up, his eyes lighting up with something that is positively maniacal. Slowly, he takes the straw of his juice, and tosses it at the trash can. He misses. It falls to the ground.

He smirks wider, right at Bryan, before starting to walk away.

Bryan’s face flushes. His teeth tighten. Before he can stop himself, he shouts, “You have sucky aim!”

Holden stops. Twists on his heel. His smug smile is the most infuriating thing on earth. “I was the captain of the basketball team at my old school,” he says, slowly and smoothly and very, very coolly. “I can assure you, my aim is just fine.”

Bryan’s eyes narrow. Holden’s griping smile grows smugger.

Then the moment is over, and Holden is walking away, and Bryan is pitifully picking up the stupid straw to throw it in its proper place.

**.**

He feels sad and everything _hurts_ and his temple pounds and his stomach screams.

His father compliments his 100% on his math test, before adding, carelessly, “Don’t get arrogant about it though. You’re not better than other people just because you’re smart. After all, it’s just genes, isn’t it?”

And Bryan nods his head, clenches his pencil, studies harder, thinking, _I don’t think that, I don’t think that, I don’t think that._ But the heat of fear rushes up his neck, and his eyes close with weight, and he’s just so tired of _thinking_ that he eats a pear and goes to sleep.

**.**

Bryan contains a moan of frustration when Holden walks into his physics class Monday morning.

“And you are?” the teacher asks.

“Holden.”

“Last name?”

“Jackass,” someone from the class calls. Bryan agrees silently.

Holden just laughs, the sound deep, warm and genuine. “Unfortunately, nah, it’s just Slaw.”

“Slaw,” the teacher scans the list. “Right. You’re…” she frowns. “You were in applied physics, weren’t you?”

Holden shrugs. “Tried it out for a few days. Too easy.”

As the teacher explains a few things to Holden, Bryan stares fervently out the window. He leaves his left palm hovering near his cheek, trying to block his face. He sits by himself, and has an empty seat beside him, and the last thing he needs is Holden to be his new lab partner.

“Okay, Mr. Slaw, why don’t you…” the teacher scans the class. Bryan sinks deeper in his seat. Her eyes light up. “Oh! Look, there’s a nice empty seat next to Bryan.”

_Of fucking course._

Holden’s eyes follow the teacher’s gaze, and the moment they land on Bryan, his whole face _blooms_ with light like a kid on Christmas morning. His lips curl, an enormous amount of smugness decorates his face, and he strolls over to Bryan with absolute hotshot confidence in his steps. “So you’re Bryan,” Holden says, sliding into the seat next to him.

Bryan ignores him and continues to stare out the window. Outside, snow covers the ground, painting the world white and crystal. The sky stretches past his viewpoint, expanding into the horizon. Children from the elementary school next to them run and chase each other outside. Bryan smiles a little. He remembers when he used to be that little. How much easier it had been.

“What’s that?”

Bryan blinks. Holden points at the paper on his desk that reads _Save the Whales._

“I run the club,” Bryan curls his arm protectively over the page. “We’re working on helping the dolphins in Japan.” Then he adds, bitterly, “Not that _you_ would care.”

Holden snickers. “You’re right. I don’t. How geeky.”

Bryan clenches his teeth. “You don’t care that dolphins are being slaughtered?”

Holden blows on his nails. “Not particularly.”

 _Insensitive asshole,_ Bryan deducts, but he doesn’t expand on it, and instead slouches in his seat. He is hyper aware of Holden’s presence beside him – the boy is tall and lean and, yes, smoking hot, with sexiness radiating off of his very skin. Bryan swallows, and tries to pay attention to what the teacher is saying. Never in his life has he cared about appearances before, and he’s not going to start now, especially with a dickhead like Holden.

His physics teacher comes around to hand back the tests from Friday, and Bryan smiles a little when he sees the _100%_ written in dark red ink at the top of his test. But then his smile falls, because he doesn’t want to seem arrogant.

“Wow,” Holden looks impressed. “So you’re the whole geek package, eh?”

Bryan’s spine feels tight and wound. His lips thin, and he ducks his head down to work on the homework package. Even though Holden is looking at him with dark, cool blue eyes, Bryan’s mind is already wandering to his father. He can’t help it. He feels arrogant whenever he gets a good mark now, and he almost wishes he was dumb. Or like an eighty student – good enough to get into university, but not a genius.

 _Don’t consider yourself a genius,_ Bryan reminds himself. _That’s the epitome of being arrogant._

“So you’re basically a genius?” Holden asks.

Bryan fumbles for words. He isn’t prepared for this question. “No!” he blurts. “No. Not really. I’m not in AP physics, am I?”

There. That sounds modest enough.

Holden smirks, slow and wide. “Bullshit,” he says. “AP isn’t harder work. It’s just _more_ work. Even _I_ know that.”

Bryan’s face is hot with discomfort. “I’m not a genius,” he finally mumbles out.

Holden leans forward, interested. “So what are you then? One of those workaholics?”

“No.” Bryan licks his lips. Changes his mind. “Yeah, a little. I’m actually not very smart at all. I read things over a million times, and have a tutor and-“ he starts rambling about how dumb he actually is, and it feels so _good,_ because there’s no way in hell saying he’s dumb is arrogant. “Yeah, and I always have to redo tests and do extra credit…”

Holden looks unimpressed. “Right.”

“It’s true!” Bryan insists. Then he wonders why he’s even talking to him. He hates Holden.

The rest of the lesson is a bore. Bryan’s fingers itch to leave the classroom, to head home, to collapse in his bed and lose himself in math equations and chemical formulas. Holden spends the lesson throwing an eraser up and down, before balancing it on his head. Bryan tries to ignore the slope of Holden’s neck, the sleek white of his teeth.

When the bell rings, the class scrambles to leave.

Bryan crams everything in his bag and runs for the door.

But before he can exit into freedom, a hand clamps down on his shoulder. Bryan makes an “oof” noise, because that _hurt._ Then he turns around to see Holden smiling down at him, an evil smirk on his face.

“See you later, _sweetheart._ ”

Bryan’s face goes red. “What did you just call me?”

But Holden is already disappearing down the hallway, evaporating into the clusters of students, his brown hair bobbing amongst the crowd and making Bryan hate him even more.

**.**

“Selfish.”

Bryan’s heart squeezes, and his hand hovers above the spaghetti he’s cooking.

His father flips idly through a newspaper, his dress shirt unravelled around his neck, a bottle of red wine in his left hand. “You know,” he says. “I know you’re a good boy and all. I mean, you cook, you clean, you do all of that stuff. And it’s good. But you’re selfish, Bryan. I know that. You only do this because you don’t want me to hurt you.” He pauses, takes a sip of his wine. “You don’t actually care about anyone but yourself.”

Bryan swallows around the lump in his throat. His knees feel weak, because being called arrogant seemed like the worst thing in the world, but _selfish_ is ten times worse, and already, his mind starts to race. Is he actually selfish? He knows he’s not the kindest person in the world, but he tries to be, and- and – his face crumples, but he can’t cry, not in front of his dad.

He hates himself. For being arrogant, selfish, just plain _pathetic._

“Um,” Bryan says. “I’m sorry.”

“Not really,” his father states. “You just want to seem less selfish than you really are.”

Was that true? Bryan puts down the spices, and leans his head against the cool cabinets. He feels nauseous. “I think I’m sick,” he says after a moment, to no one in particular, his voice echoing amongst the sickly quiet home.

“Always damn sick,” his father spouts. “And always whining about it too.”

“Sorry.” Bryan winces, because _damn_ his head hurts. “Do you know where the Advil is?”

Bryan’s father rises from the couch; brows arched and high. “What? You want to finish all of those up too?”

“Just one. Really, I promise.”

“Because you can’t handle a little headache?”

“I’m sick.”

He gets no reply, only a grunt of denial from his father. Of course he can’t use up the Advil. That would be _selfish_ of him. And how arrogant was he, to assume that his father wouldn’t notice he was being selfish?

Bryan licks his lips. His face is flushed from fever, and his limbs feel like rubber as he turns the cooker on and mounts up the stairs.

His bedroom is a little plain square with carpeted flooring and a set of gray curtains. There’s no posters, no decorations, no pictures. All of his scholastic trophies are displayed in a glass case, but they’re only there so his father can brag about them when relatives come over. Bryan heaves open his backpack, and pulls out his gigantic chemistry textbook.

He gets comfortable, and opens to page twenty seven.

 _Moles,_ Bryan smiles a little. He loves working with moles.

Bryan works on moles for the rest of the night, and only stops when he feels so hot and feverish that his throat clams up and his eyes close on their own. And in the last hazy moments of consciousness, he feels a faint throbbing in his heart that feels like loneliness.

And then he dreams -  in a daze of heat and exhaustion - of Holden riding a bicycle to pick him up so they can go save dolphins together in Japan.


End file.
